The leaves were piles of skeletons and he was only skin and bones
by Na.Shao
Summary: He keeps seeing flashes of the battle, keeps seeing Sirius falling dead through the Veil.


**Blabla: **this is a gift for a wonderful lady known as **Marilou**, who puts up with my crazy self all the time and who's immensely kind and insightful about life, writing, sushis, cheese and other lovely topics. Thank you for being an amazing friend and an even better _zombie_ friend.

This bit takes place after Sirius' death ; I'm somehow imagining Harry grieving at the Burrow, for some reason. I've wanted to try my hand at writing him for a bit of time, and I hope I managed not too badly.

The title comes from _A Thread Cut With A Carving Knife_ by Stars.

* * *

His eyes have seen too much.

Harry scratches that spot just over his brow, and before he knows it, his nails bite into the soft flesh. An angry, red mark stretches on his forehead; his scar aches.

He wants to forget.

But it doesn't work, forgetting. It doesn't work because he needs to remember, he needs to have it burnt into his skin; he's the chosen one and dust is what awaits ahead.

It's been weeks, and Harry still feels weak and hollow when he thinks about Sirius. There is a pain that has no words; there is an anger that keeps rising in his chest and the blood boils under the layers of skin.

He keeps seeing flashes of the battle, keeps seeing Sirius falling dead through the Veil, Remus' eyes closing shut painfully, and then, his arms around Harry, trying to hold him back.

Some days are made of screaming and breaking every damn object that gets in his way. He usually turns into a beast of a man, shouting at the top of his lungs, bruising his knuckles against walls, his skin like sandpaper.

Some days are made of cold and quiet. They end up in him feeling numb, eyes locked on the shard of glass of the mirror that belonged to Sirius.

The lights go out. It's late at night; Harry lets his body fall in the cold, wet grass and Sirius shines bright through the thickness of the blue shades of the sky. The boy who lived shivers, allows his suffering to crawl back into his veins, to burn along the muscles, the bones, the spine; he feels dead, and exhausted, and alone.

Seeing family, friends, colleagues die, always; shadows growing, blood dripping down his face, tears tasting like salt and sweat.

People get hurt, he knows that; people get hurt and they end up dying, fading away slowly like ghosts of a past best forgotten.

"_You're not a bad person. You're a very good person, who bad things have happened to."_

The words swirl in Harry's mind. He rubs the dark circles underneath his eyes and the skin is raw, sore and blotchy with the memory of tears, of anger, of love spread but only met with emptiness; words echo, always, like a soothing lullaby, like a balm.

_Sirius is dead_, Harry reminds himself, straightening up, fingers to his lips, and he wants to bite, to take the world apart and erase this injustice. Once again, he's alone. Once again, darkness is around the corner, waiting, and it's so tempting to forget about being brave and being the kind hero: Harry's heart and feelings are a battleground lost in an unknown land and his eyes are filled with monsters and death. It's so tempting to leave everything behind and go someplace where the frost cannot reach him.

Feelings are fighting—it's a never ending conflict between light and dark, blue shades and grey undertones, love and hatred, ashes and blood pumping through his veins.

Ron watches his best friend's figure from his bedroom window, allowing his eyes to get used to the quiet darkness of July, and he's tempted to go down and reach out for him, but stays put instead, because he knows, he knows deep down that Harry's scars may never heal completely, that they will act as painful reminders of loss, which doesn't mean that nothing will shine again, no; just the idea that, someday soon, Harry may just accept the process of grieving and moving on, heart lighter, eyes still shadowed by death but never overcome by it.


End file.
